


Pranks at the World Meeting - or, how everyone pissed off Ludwig

by RunningDeer, zhejiang_loves_cacti



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Pranks and Practical Jokes, america is immature, everyone is immature, romano swears a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunningDeer/pseuds/RunningDeer, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhejiang_loves_cacti/pseuds/zhejiang_loves_cacti
Summary: It all started with Alfred and Matthew playing a simple joke at the world meeting... but where will it end?Rated for Lovino's mouth, just to be safe.





	1. Glasses

      “Are you sure about this?” Matthew asked Alfred. Alfred nodded, taking off his glasses.

      “Dude, this will be so funny. You  _ know _ Ludwig is gonna be pissed!” Alfred exclaimed. Matthew took off his glasses as well and traded with Alfred. They laughed at each other.

      “Alfred, you look ridiculous,” Matthew called to the retreating American. Alfred posed as if taking a picture and walked out of the door to go to the world meeting. Matthew giggled once again and followed.

 

      Several countries were already at the meeting when Alfred and Matthew showed up. Ludwig was there, of course; Feliciano was with him, clearly having been dragged there early by his German friend; Arthur and Francis were arguing, as always; and Kiku was sitting in the corner, observing the others quietly.

      Alfred and Matthew took their seats without having a confrontation with any other nations. Eventually the other countries began filing in and giving them brief, odd glances. Matthew was growing slightly nervous due to being noticed more than usual, and even Alfred seemed uncomfortable due to the strange looks. Everyone seemed slightly on edge, and Ludwig was irritated that everyone was glancing around so much. Finally, when all of the countries had filed into the room and Gilbert had snuck in to “help” his brother lead the meeting, it was time to begin.

      “Alright, everyone! It’s time to begin the meeting. Make sure you don’t speak for too long, and-- hey!” Ludwig broke off to glare at Francis and Arthur, who were whispering to each other and glancing at Alfred and Matthew. The pair looked up, Arthur coughed slightly, and they stopped talking. 

      “Well, now that you two have shut up”-- Francis scoffed and Arthur kicked him under the table-- “...We can start!”

 

      Arthur went first, making the usual remarks about America’s ideas being terrible and yelling at Francis when he dared to insult Arthur’s scones. Francis went next, making an elegant speech and slipping in another sly insult to Arthur’s cooking. Although that elicited a slight laugh from the group, no one seemed to be quite paying attention. Feliciano and Lovino piped up, shifting the conversation from Arthur’s cooking to the complete and total lack of pasta in the room. Antonio made expected comments about the virtues of tomatoes, ignoring insults from Lovino as he spoke. As the countries went around the room, less and less attention was paid to the country actually speaking; instead, most were sneaking glances at Alfred or occasionally Matthew and whispering to the person next to them. Ludwig watched this with growing irritation.

 

      Finally, after a long speech from Yao that had eventually been derailed to bragging about his country’s food, Alfred stood up. The whispers grew even louder at this point; no one bothered to hide it anymore. Alfred was slightly nervous about the extra attention, but brushed it off and pretended nothing was wrong. However, no one could ignore the increasingly restless atmosphere that permeated the air of the room. Even Gilbird was not free from the effects; he hopped and chirped restlessly on Gilbert’s head and shoulders while the former nation cackled (or ‘kesesese’d, as the case may be) nervously in the corner. The whispers were growing louder until Alfred could not be heard anymore and finally gave up on talking. This was the last straw for Ludwig; he slammed his hands down on the table and yelled angrily, “What is with all of the whispering?”

 

      The room went silent.

 

      Then Kiku stood up and said, “There’s something wrong with Alfred and Matthew!”

 

      Nations began speaking again, people nodding or loudly agreeing that something was off. Ludwig sighed and motioned to Matthew to come stand up by Alfred. Matthew obeyed nervously, standing next to his twin who gave him a reassuring nod and smile. The room went quiet once again, waiting for an explanation. There was a few seconds pause; then, suddenly, Matthew removed his glasses; Alfred followed suit. They traded, and suddenly a huge sigh of relief passed through the room.

      “Ve~ so they just switched glasses?” Feliciano remarked from his seat. Arthur shook his head while Francis laughed beside him. There was talking all around the room; Antonio was talking animatedly to a seemingly uninterested Lovino who simply sighed and stared at the North American brothers. Ludwig placed his head in his hands and waited for everyone to calm down, then motioned for Matthew and Alfred to take their seats.

      “Alright, we figured it out; please, never do that again. Now, clearly nothing is going to get done today, so I suppose we can just go home now…” He sighed, pushed away from the table, and walked out with a certain loud Italian trailing behind. His brother, on the other hand, shook free from Antonio’s grip on his arm and approached Matthew and Alfred.

      “Hey, bastards-- er, you two,” Lovino corrected himself, seemingly making an effort to be polite. Matthew and Alfred looked up at him.

      “Well, I don’t usually enjoy pranks, but that switching glasses thing you did really seemed to make potato bastard angry. I want you to do it again,” Lovino said bluntly.

      “Dude, as much as I like pranks, you can’t just do the same one twice in a row! That’s totally lame!” Alfred said, as if it was obvious that you need variety in your pranks.

      Lovino huffed angrily. “Well, I don’t care what you do. Just do something to piss him off!”

      “Fine,” Alfred said, “But you have to do it with us!”

      A look of worry flickered over Matthew’s face, while Lovino matched the expression with a mix of horror and frustration.

      “Whatever! It had better be good, though,” Lovino growled. Alfred cheered.

      “But what are we actually going to do?” Matthew inquired. Alfred grinned. 

      “Oh, I have an idea…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first chapter! Don't worry, we have a lot more mischief planned. In theory, this will be updated every week, but don't quote me on that.  
> Please leave any suggestions or corrections in the comments! I'd love to know what you think!


	2. Twins

      “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Lovino said for the millionth time as Feliciano held a curling iron to his brother’s hair.

      “Fratello, cheer up! It won’t be so bad; I think it could actually be really really fun!” Italy piped up. Finally, he removed the curling iron and sprayed Lovino’s hair with a generous (probably excessive) amount of hairspray. Lovino stood up and faced Feliciano. Now Lovino had two curls- his natural one hanging off to the right and a new one springing up from his left side.

      “Now my turn, ve~” Feliciano said, sitting down in the chair and spinning excitedly. Lovino picked up the curling iron with a sigh.

      “Alright, let’s get this over with. And stop spinning- I’m going to burn you.”

 

      Finally, both of the brothers had finished getting ready. Their hair was curled, and they each wore a light-colored shirt with dark brown pants. The only main difference was the scowl on Lovino’s face. 

      “Cheer up, fratello! With that mean look on your face, people will tell us apart easily!”

      “Fine,” Lovino said making his best attempt at a happier expression. “Why don't you try opening your eyes for once?”  
Before Feliciano could respond, there was a knock on the door. Feliciano ran to open it and found Alfred and Matthew standing behind it. They had each slicked back their respective “ahoges” with hair gel, and they wore slightly tinted sunglasses to hide the subtle difference in their eye color. Aside from that, they were dressed rather similarly to the Italians.

      “Alright dudes!” Alfred exclaimed. “Looks great! Let’s get going!” 

 

      As soon as they arrived at the meeting, Ludwig placed his head in his hands and sighed dejectedly.  “Mein Gott,” he sighed, barely audible to the others. Feliciano was tempted to go pester his German friend, but a nudge from Matthew reminded him to stay put.

      The brothers took their seats, all next to each other to avoid being discovered. Everything was peaceful for a few minutes as countries filtered into the room until Antonio arrived.  Antonio walked over to Lovino’s seat as he did before every meeting, but stopped suddenly and stared at the Italies.  “Um… Hello, Lovi!” he said, looking at one of the brothers who he apparently assumed was Lovino. Both brothers turned to look at him simultaneously. Antonio scratched the back of his head nervously.  “Oh… Um, I guess I’ll sit here, then,” he said, sitting to the right of the pair. The brothers glanced at each other with a slight smile; Lovino seemed to finally be enjoying himself.

 

      At last, the countries had assembled. Once again, Arthur and Francis were whispering angrily while shooting looks at the two pairs of twins, as if trying to figure out which twin was which. Ludwig stood up to begin the meeting.

      “Alright!” Ludwig shouted. Everyone quieted. “It’s time to begin the meeting! Don’t speak too long and don’t interrupt.”

      One by one the countries spoke up, each giving half-hearted speeches. Arthur and Francis didn’t even try to insult each other; everyone wanted to get to the twins and finally figure out what was going on. Ludwig was not impressed by the lack of effort, but decided to ignore it -- at least, that was his plan, until Gilbert stood up next to him.

      “Gilbert!” Ludwig growled. “Sit down! It’s not your turn to speak- in fact, you shouldn’t be here at all!” Gilbert cackled.

      “You cannot silence awesome! Besides, since you all seem to be avoiding it, I needed to point out the fact that we have two pairs of identical people in this room,” he stated triumphantly, pointing an accusing finger at each pair of twins. The group of four looked at each other nervously. Alfred (Matthew?) opened his mouth as if about to speak, but before he could say a word Ludwig stood up.

      “We do not have time for this!” Ludwig interrupted. “Gilbert, sit down. Feliciano, stand up; it’s your turn to speak.”

      Unsurprisingly, not one but both of the Italian brothers stood up. They began a well-rehearsed speech about (shockingly) pasta, talking about how it could solve all of the world’s problems. Whenever one brother stuttered, the other would cover for him; they spoke nearly monotone to help cover the difference in their voices. Feliciano fought back his speech tic (although he nearly slipped in a ‘ve~’ several times) and Lovino resisted the temptation to refer to the other nations as ‘bastards’ or something equally rude. By the end, the nations were dazed. How had they managed to speak like that?

      Alfred and Matthew, however, struggled more.

      However much he tried, Matthew simply could not get his voice to project. They had tried every trick in the book--breathing deeply, standing up straighter, lifting his chin--nothing worked. After a few short moments of speaking at an acceptable volume, his voice would die off and he would go back to mumbling. Despite the fact that the brothers’ accents were similar, the occasional difference in pronunciation (take the infamous Canadian “aboot”) and even word choice (Alfred had a tendency to overuse slang and the word “hero”) caused consistent problems. Needless to say, after several ‘dude’s, ‘eh’s, and instances of Alfred speaking much too loudly, everyone had figured out which twin was which. Matthew sat down, embarrassed, and Alfred sighed. 

      “At least I can finally take these glasses off,” Matthew said. Alfred turned his head to the Italians and mouthed ‘Don’t fail us now.’

      At this point, no one cared about the meeting’s actual objective; instead, they seemed determined to figure out which Italian was which. The few remaining countries made an effort to mention anyone and anything that could possibly cause one Italy to react-- talking about Ludwig, Antonio, Roderich, pasta, tomatoes, Sicily-- but to no avail. Finally, there was no one left to speak. The brothers began to leave, thinking they were about to get away with fooling everyone. However, just before they reached the door, Gilbert came up from behind, unleashed a battle cry of “I am awesome!!”, and tackle-hugged Lovino. 

      Caught off guard, Lovino screamed and then unleashed a string of curses that could have set the ground aflame. Gilbert, realizing his mistake, ran and cowered behind Antonio as Lovino threatened to “rip your throat out and feed it to Potato Bastard’s dogs”. Antonio laughed as he held his furious Italian by the shoulders, dragging him out the door to take him home. Gilbert, realizing he was safe, sprinted over to brag about his courageous endeavor to Matthew. The Canadian seemed flustered from the extra attention, although he tried to reply to the hyperactive albino.

      Yet another meeting had ended in a mischievous international trainwreck. Ludwig was growing more annoyed by the day, especially since Feliciano had decided to pass out on a table immediately following Gilbert’s assault on Lovino. Carrying the sleeping Italian, Ludwig stewed in anger. How much longer would this go on? How many heads would have to be bashed in until it stopped? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the second chapter! Once again, please feel free to leave any suggestions or corrections in the comments. I'd love to know what you think!  
> The next chapter should be a lot longer.


	3. FrUKing Pranking

      It was time for yet another world meeting. Strangely, Arthur arrived last- he ran into the room, panting, several minutes late. Arthur shot a glare at Francis before taking his seat next to him. Ludwig looked up from his desk and asked, “Where have you been? We were supposed to start five minutes ago.” 

      Arthur opened his mouth to reply, but Francis chimed in, “Oui, where were you, Angleterre?” He had an evil smirk on his face which implied that he did, in fact, know what had happened. Arthur fumed.

     “What happened? Let you tell me what happened.

     “This morning, I was making tea as usual when I realized I didn’t have any sugar, so I asked Francis where it was. He told me it was in the pantry, but when I went to look inside he shoved me in and locked the door. When I finally got out, I went to find my keys so I could start my car, but they weren’t anywhere in the house, so I had to run all the way here,” Arthur said, finishing off with another glare towards Francis. 

     “Very well. Don’t let it happen again,” Ludwig groaned. 

     “Oh, and here are your keys, mon cher,” Francis said smugly, throwing a key ring at the startled Brit. Alfred had to restrain Arthur to prevent the smug French nation from meeting an early demise.

      Ludwig was very much prepared for all sorts of shenanigans to occur during that meeting, but strangely enough, the day went without incident. Nothing even happened the next day when the countries were called back to work out an unresolved issue from the original meeting. The same could not be said, however, for the party that Francis threw at a bar the next Tuesday. 

     On Tuesday morning, Arthur had finally thought of an acceptable prank to get back at Francis. Arthur had spent the previous day finding all of the supplies he would need both at the store (with copious help from Elizabeta). He pulled up a cosplay tutorial for hiding one’s eyebrows and set to work. About ten minutes, several glue sticks, and many profanities later, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. It was perfect. Arthur stood up from his chair and walked down the stairs. He saw Francis at the table, reading the paper.

     “Good morning, Angleterre. How are-- Merde!” Francis broke off his casual greeting with a sudden shout. Arthur fought back a smile and sat down at the table.

     “What’s wrong, dear?” he asked. Francis stared at him.

     “Your eyebrows! They’re--” Francis was cut off by an irritated voice.

     “Francis, I’ve already heard every possible joke about my eyebrows. I thought we were finally past this,” the Brit replied.

     "But--” Francis stopped speaking when Arthur shot a glare at him. Instead, he asked casually, “How about some tea?” Oh, he would get back at the Brit for this.

     A few hours later, Francis and Arthur were preparing to go out to meet the other nations for the party. Francis had managed to find some decent clothes for Arthur to wear and left the man in his room to change while the Frenchman went to find his own outfit. Of course, that wasn’t all he planned to do. As soon as he had found something acceptable for the occasion, he sat down in front of the mirror and produced a black Sharpie from his pocket. He drew several thick lines on and above his eyebrows, not bothering to put any special care into it. Then he capped the marker, smoothed his clothes, and prepared for the shitstorm to follow.

     Arthur was not impressed by the marker all over Francis’s face, but it was too late to do anything about it. He merely tossed a coat at the French nation and muttered under his breath as they went downstairs. Neither of them said much during the drive to the bar, and for a few precious moments after entering the bar no one paid much attention to the odd pair.

     Of course, that changed rather quickly.

     Alfred was the first one to notice the pair; he had been drinking with Gilbert, Matthew, and Antonio when he glanced over to the door and saw Arthur and Francis walking in. He simply stared for a few moments before bursting out in laughter. Gilbert and Antonio followed suit; even the quiet Canadian couldn’t help giggling slightly. This, of course, attracted the attention of the others in the room, most of whom were either confused, annoyed, or hysterical at the sight. Gilbert and Antonio quickly swarmed Francis, while Alfred approached Arthur with Matthew trailing behind.

     Gilbert had not stopped laughing since seeing his friend walk in; he was still cackling and pointing at his Francis’s face, attempting to speak before bursting out with another wave of laughter. Antonio, meanwhile, grabbed Francis’s shoulder and began speaking to him.

     “So, what’s all this about?” the Spaniard inquired. Francis attempted to keep a straight face, but before he could speak he began laughing. After recovering, he shook himself off and began to explain himself.

     “Well, this morning when Arthur came downstairs, he had somehow hidden his eyebrows, and when I asked him about it he played dumb. Well, two can play at that game…” Francis trailed off and raised his eyebrows, which caused the Sharpie lines on his face to scrunch up rather than raising gracefully. Gilbert tried to catch his breath and began speaking.

     “So now… you have marker all over your face… holy shit, Francis, you look ridiculous,” he said, finally under control. Francis scoffed and shook his head.

     “I think you mispronounced ‘fabulous’,” he retorted. Gilbert shook his head.

     “Whatever you say, Sharpie man. But enough of that. This is a bar; let’s get some drinks!” Gilbert exclaimed, running off to the bar and leaving his friends to follow. 

 

     Meanwhile, Arthur was having a similar exchange with Alfred and Matthew. “Dude, what happened to your eyebrows?” Alfred asked. He sounded rather amazed, concerned, and amused. Arthur stared back at his former colony.

     “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he deadpanned. 

    Matthew piped up, “But, your eyebrows, they’re not-”

    “Could we stop talking about my eyebrows for once and just enjoy this party normally?” Arthur asked. “This is supposed to be fun!”

    Matthew and Alfred exchanged a look. Alfred seemed like he was about to say something, but Matthew dragged him away to get another drink.

    There was a copious amount of alcohol during that night, along with plenty of bad decisions and awkward moments. Memorably, Lovino fell onto Ludwig and didn’t even bother to swear at the man; the poor German simply deposited him by Antonio before Feliciano could do something stupid unsupervised. 

    Arthur certainly had his fair share of alcohol; he allowed the scent and the taste of beer to overwhelm him. The feeling of being with his friends and drinking simply increased throughout the night. He was just getting into a slurred conversation with Flying Mint Bunny when suddenly he fell and found he was laying in his bed. He sat up slowly, but the hangover hit him hard nonetheless. After locating a conveniently-placed bucket and filling it with regret, he laid back down to contemplate his existence. He finally decided to stand up, but instead awkwardly slithered to the floor and pressed his face against the cold surface. Eventually, he found the strength to go to his dresser, although not without staggering and groaning at the pain of standing up. To his shock and dismay, he discovered that all of the sweaters and button-ups in his dresser had been replaced with flashy, garish, and suspiciously sparkly outfits. 

    “Oh, whatever,” he sighed. The Brit was much too tired to bother finding his regular clothes; he would interrogate Francis once he got downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be in two parts, and we'll try to stay consistent and add it next week.


	4. FrUKing Pranking (cont.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished the FrUK chapter! Sorry for the long hiatus; I've been very lazy about writing.

Arthur stalked down the stairs, glowering at Francis. When the Frenchman still hadn’t looked up, Arthur cleared his throat and tapped his foot impatiently. This finally caused Francis to look up from his coffee. He simply smiled at the fuming Brit, pretending nothing was amiss. 

“What the hell is this?” Arthur finally spoke, gesturing to the mess of glitter that he was wearing.

“Oh, mon cher!” he clapped his hands to his chest in an over-dramatic display of affection. “It’s almost like you have a fashion sense!” Francis said, although he privately thought that he prefered Arthur in his usual oversized sweaters. The Englishman simply glared back.

“What did you do with my clothes?” Arthur grumbled. Francis simply shrugged. “Well, they didn’t just disappear!” Arthur continued. “Where did you put them?” Francis ignored Arthur’s pleading and turned back to his paper with a smirk. Arthur sighed and opened the fridge, not sure what he was looking for but positive he would find it. As it turns out, he was correct; a pile of cold sweaters poured out of the fridge, covering the Englishman. He yelped in surprise.

“Bloody hell, Francis! Now my sweaters are cold… There’s something inherently wrong about this,” Arthur finished, angrily picking up the sweaters and muttering something that Francis was glad he did not hear. When all of the refrigerated garments were finally gathered up in Arthur’s arms, he stood up and glared at the French nation. Without saying a word, he stormed up the stairs to change into his regular clothes. Now only his bottom half was sparkly…

For the rest of the day, Arthur searched for his missing clothes. They had been hidden all over the house; he found several pairs of pants in the shower, five shoes in a hanging planter (the sixth had fallen onto the ground below), and some vests and other miscellaneous garments that were hidden underneath a couch cushion. Finally, when he had collected all of the missing clothes and changed into his usual attire, he gathered up Francis’s flashy outfits and pointedly dropped them on the floor in front of the aforementioned man. Francis simply picked them up and carried them upstairs with a smile that showed he didn’t regret anything. Arthur resolved to change that. 

Arthur impatiently knocked on the wooden door in front of him. This was his third attempt, and he was about to give up and try another house when suddenly the door swung open. Alfred stood in the doorway, looking overly energetic as usual. 

“Yo, Britain, what’s up?” Alfred asked. Arthur looked up at the American. 

“Nothing much, but I do have to ask you a favor,” Arthur muttered. “Can I use your kitchen?” he finally asked. Alfred’s face turned white as he quickly said “No,” and he was about to shut the door when Arthur stopped him. 

“Please, Alfred!” Arthur said. “It’s for a good cause!” Arthur explained his plan to Alfred, who smiled and agreed… although not without bringing a fire extinguisher along with him.

 

Arthur woke to the sound of a shriek coming from downstairs and jumped out of bed with an incriminating grin on his face. He rushed down the stairs to see Francis laying on the floor, covered in scones that had fallen out of the cabinet above him. “Oh dear, what happened?” he asked, not even bothering to hide his smile. He picked up the Frenchman and sat him down at the table. Francis was muttering under his breath, “The scones… the scones were everywhere! It was like a nightmare! I just wanted to make breakfast, but all I could find was a cabinet full of scones…” Arthur patted Francis’s back comfortingly, but he didn’t stop talking. “Who would ever need that many scones? Why did you make so many?  _ Why were they in the cabinet??” _

“It’s fine; there are no more scones. Now, why don’t you go make a great French breakfast, and you can prove to me the superiority of your food,” Arthur said.

Unfortunately for Francis, he was lying. There were more scones; there were scones everywhere. Arthur set about picking up the mess, biting back laughter at an exclamation of, “Merde! Where are they coming from?” In pulling down one of his cookbooks, Francis had managed to dislodge another avalanche of scones. When he opened up the oven to make sure it was empty before turning it on, he found that it was packed full of scones. There were scones in cereal bowls, in wine glasses, in cupboards full of spices. How Arthur had managed to acquire such an ungodly amount of the baked goods in such a short time, Francis had no idea, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. Francis finally stormed out of the kitchen and was about to angrily interrogate Arthur when there was a ring at the doorbell.

When Arthur and Francis went over to the door to open the door, they found Alfred standing outside. The American glanced between the two nations before saying, “I can tell by Francis’s expression that you found the scones.”

Arthur nodded, not even trying to hide his smug expression. Francis saw this and huffed, turning back to Alfred and gesturing.

“See what I have to put up with?” he said. “How did he even get so many in the first place?” At this, Alfred started laughing, and Francis was hit with a realization. “Merde! You helped him, didn’t you! What, is my Matthieu in on this too?” 

“Of course not! He would never trust me with his kitchen, even being as kind as he is,” Arthur said. Francis nodded, pleased.

“Of course not. I raised him better than that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, you git?” Arthur retorted. Francis smirked. 

“Nothing, nothing. Now,” he said, turning back to Alfred, who tried to back away. He grabbed the younger nation by the collar of his shirt and dragged him back into the house. “I believe you two have a mess to clean up.” Alfred complained loudly as he was dragged into the kitchen, but was quickly shut up by Arthur, who put a scone in his mouth. The American made a point of rather dramatically coughing and spitting out the scone, to which Arthur replied by attempting to put yet another in his mouth. However, Alfred saw this coming and deflected it, throwing a scone at the Englishman. Francis cried out about them making a mess of his house, but simply got some scones thrown at him. What resulted was a bloody battle in which the only weapons were sharp insults and over-baked pastries, which is why, when Matthew and Gilbert stopped by to say hello (being the friendly people that they are), they found a group of angry blondes yelling at each other in the midst of a plethora of pastry remnants and fallen furniture.

Of course, Matthew and Gilbert, having known the three for a long time, were not surprised in the least; however, that is not to say that there were not disappointed. Matthew cleared his throat politely while Gilbert, realizing that the situation was long past the point of calm de-escalation, decided that force was the only effective solution.

“Oh, can it, Francis; you sound like an old married woman,” he said, grabbing the man’s shirt and bringing him away from his family. Matthew sighed and followed suit, using his hidden strength to drag a still-yelling Alfred away from the remaining pastries. Slowly Alfred calmed down until Matthew was finally able to understand what he was saying; “...stupid burnt scones… he thought he could keep me quiet… I shouldn’t have let him use my kitchen…” Once Matthew was confident that Alfred was done throwing scones, he let go and turned back to Arthur. Said man was sitting amidst his pile of baked goods, looking rather smug that no one had dragged him away. 

“...What the hell happened, Arthur?” Matthew sighed, exasperated.  _ How am I related to these people?? _

“Well, you see, Francis thought it would be a great idea to hide all my clothes--” Arthur began, but was immediately interrupted.

“They looked great on you, mon cher! Quite the improvement from your usual outfits,” Francis interjected, only to be silenced by Gilbert. He looked away like a chastised child and muttered something that was probably incredibly offensive, based on Gilbert’s stern reaction.

“As I was  _ saying, _ ” said Arthur, looking pointedly at Francis. “Francis hid all of my clothes around the house, so I decided to take revenge by hiding scones in the cupboards and what have you-- I thought it might be a great opportunity for him to appreciate the superiority that is English cooking.” Francis shot an offended look at Arthur but had the sense to keep quiet.

“Of course, rather than admit that the scones were delicious, he shrieked and insulted them every time he came across one. Then when Alfred came over and I tried to get him to help me clean up, the git had the nerve to throw them at me! I--”  
“He put a scone in my mouth!” Alfred interrupted. When Matthew hushed him he simply looked up at his brother, betrayed. “You know how bad they taste…”

Matthew shuddered at the thought.

Suddenly, Gilbert spoke up. “As entertaining as it is to watch you two bicker, I think this has gone too far. These pranks need to stop.”

Francis sniffed. “Not until Arthur apologizes for the scones.” Arthur glared at his husband.

“Not until you apologize for putting my sweaters in the fridge!  _ In the fridge! _ Do you know how uncomfortable cold sweaters are?”

“ _ Cold sweaters  _ are inherently wrong? You hid your eyebrows! Do you know how horrific that was?” Francis replied.

“You drew yours on with a Sharpie! That’s just flat-out mockery-- and that was after you locked me in a closet and hid my car keys!”

Francis tried to retaliate, but there was nothing left to say. All eyes turned to the Frenchman, who coughed and straightened a non-existent tie, seemingly in an attempt to look less guilty.

“So it was your fault, wasn’t it, Francis?” Gilbert asked his friend with an accusing smirk. Francis sighed. 

“Oui, I suppose it was. But  _ Angleterre _ over there is just too easy to annoy! Besides, everyone knows that we’re in an ongoing battle of insults; he probably did something equally horrible that we’ve all forgotten about,” Francis said. Suddenly, the accusing eyes turned to Arthur. No one said a word. Finally, Matthew cleared his throat.

“Alright, I suppose neither of you are completely innocent. Let’s just call a truce, eh? This whole prank war is getting too destructive for my tastes,” he said. Alfred and Gilbert enthusiastically agreed. Francis and Arthur, on the other hand, stared at each other skeptically.

“Fine… I suppose I could have a truce with you, frog,” Arthur said. 

“I guess it won’t be too much trouble,” said Francis, nodding slowly.

“Okay, dudes! Shake on it; you need to make it official!” said Alfred, having finally recovered from the aftermath of the pastry war.

The two men in question reached out to shake hands. However, Francis had different plans; he pulled Arthur into a kiss that ended as suddenly as it began. Arthur seemed embarrassed, but instead of getting angry like everyone assumed he would, he grabbed his husband and kissed him back. Not wanting to stay to help clean up, the other three quickly left the two to their business.

“Do you think they’ll actually stick to the truce?” Matthew asked Gilbert as they approached their car. Alfred had already left for home, saying something about playing video games with Kiku. Gilbert laughed at the question. 

“The day those two stop fighting, I’ll know something is wrong,” said Gilbert. Matthew smiled.   
“Yeah, that’s probably true. I hope we at least get a small break, though. I’m sick of dealing with their shenanigans. They’d never admit it, but they’re as bad as Alfred sometimes.”

Gilbert didn’t have a good response, so he kissed Matthew on the forehead before unlocking the car. Matthew laughed and walked over to the passenger’s side of the car.

“Let’s go home, Bear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please to feel free to leave critique in the comments! I'd love to know what you liked and what I can improve upon. I don't write this kind of thing very often.


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